


Perfect Weather

by orionstarlight



Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Haikyuu Angst Week 2020, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Stories, M/M, Memories, sorry - Freeform, there is literally no happiness to find here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionstarlight/pseuds/orionstarlight
Summary: “Found the guitar in the back of the closet a while ago. Thought I’d learn that song that was playin' the night we stayed a little too late at the after-party.”Miya’s voice is low in the recording, matching the atmosphere that was in the room when he was sitting there, singing softly into his phone, eyes closed and imagining Sakusa was on the bed, listening to him.-----Atsumu visits Kiyoomi at the hospital. READ TAGS! Day 4 of Angst Week.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995697
Kudos: 18





	Perfect Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Broken promises, Illness/Death, 'I wish I'd never met you'

* * *

His legs feel heavy on the hospital floor, plastic covering the sunflowers he’s holding crinkling in his hands. It doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel right at all, but he’s dragging himself here anyway, voice in his head screaming at him to go, to go back home.

But home doesn’t even feel like home these days. All it is now is a place of empty beer bottles and week-old leftovers in the fridge and trash that needs to be taken out. He can’t find it in him to take care of their shared space anymore.

He throws out the roses from three days ago, swiping the dead petals on the cabinet into the bin, trying to keep at least this area clean. He hooks his coat on the stand by the door before returning to sit down next to the bed and fiddling with a small velvet box in his hands.

“’s rainin' t'day. Ya’d like it, Omi-kun, ’s the perfect weather t' stay in and clean all day. Ya’d probably be shoutin' at me t' get out of bed so ya could change the sheets. 

“I’ve always loved t' sleep in on Saturdays, ya know that, so of course I’d be pullin' ya back int' bed with me and int' my arms. I’d hold ya there for a good hour, too, no matter how much ya’d squirm and tell me that ya wish ya’d never met me.”

He reaches out and adjusts the hair on the pillow, not wanting those perfect waves of his to fall flat. They’re a little greasy, so he’ll have to wash them tomorrow.

“They’ve been keepin' the room incredibly sterile in my absence. Even ya’d be impressed, I think, nevermind yer hatred for hospitals,” Miya says softly, the sun outside going down a little. “Sorry I haven’t been by as much. Turns out being a Black Jackal 's harder than I thought. Or, at least, without ya there. it is.”

He doesn’t bother pushing the silence away right now. He needs to feel it a little bit, and at least he isn’t alone in hearing it. Silence was never the worst thing in the world when they were together.

He places the box on the side table, righting the blanket that’s ever so slightly been moved out of place, evening out the wrinkles. He looks up at Sakusa, the way his eyelashes rest peacefully on closed eyes, wishing he could feel them flutter against his skin once more.

“The guys miss having ya there at practise to scold them on their hygiene. Surprisin', right? I was shocked at first too, but having ya as the unwillin' mother of our group was something we got used t' way quicker than expected,” he chuckles, wringing his hands.

“Bokkun tried t' take over yer job, it was funny, really. He’s not skilled t' take care of us at _all_.” He bends some of his fingers back, snapping them. An old habit really. “It was a nice gesture. Just not one any of us really… wanted.”

He places his head in his hands and says, muffled, “That sounds so selfish of us, doesn’t it? For us t' want ya t' be there because yer irreplaceable. I love Bokkun, we all do, but is it so bad that I love ya more?”

Wiping away unshed tears, he sniffs and throws his head back, inhaling deeply.

“Remember our last game? I wasn’t doing that well that day, I’d had t' deal with my parents goin' on and on about ‘Samu’s new restaurant like their athlete son didn’t exist. Seriously, ya don’t bring home a trophy for long enough and suddenly yer not the better twin.

“Jokin',” he smiles. “I know they love me, nonetheless. But seriously, my sets were like, some of the worst they’d ever been and then ya hit one no one else coulda hit and I felt like I’d been set on fire when ya looked back at me and _winked_. Set on fire bein' a good thing, here.

“Pretty sure I fell in love with ya all over again then. That was just the most soulmate-like thing ya ever did. Like ya knew that one hit would be enough to get me out of that slump, so ya went out of yer way to get that hit. The only thing stopping me from kissin' ya there and then was the fact that I couldn’t throw the match any more than I already had for the team.”

He wipes away a speck of dust on Sakusa’s cheek and then takes his hand away like he’s been burnt. Shaking his head, he takes out a bento box Osamu dropped off this morning and his phone along with some earphones. He plugs the left one into Sakusa’s ear and the right one into his, pressing play on a voice memo he’d finished recording last night.

“Found the guitar in the back of the closet a while ago. Thought I’d learn that song that was playin' the night we stayed a little too late at the after-party.”

Miya’s voice is low in the recording, matching the atmosphere that was in the room when he was sitting there, singing softly into his phone, eyes closed and imagining Sakusa was on the bed, listening to him.

_“I bet ya know just what yer doin'_

_Yer not the type that's used to losin'_

_First, ya build me up, then with just a touch_

_Leave me here in ruins_

_Somethin' 'bout your eyes_

_I can't even walk in a straight line_

_Under the influence_

_Oh, I've been dazed and confused_

_From the day I met ya_

_Yeah, I lost my head_

_And I'd do it again_

_Either I've seen the light_

_Or 'm losin' my mind_

_There's somethin' 'bout you_

_That's got me dazed and confused.”_

The guitar strings twinge at the end of the song, the sound cutting off roughly. “Heh, sorry. I got angry I struck the wrong chord there,” he says, taking the earphones out. “The lyrics are kind of misleadin' if I’m honest. When I’m with ya, I see clearer than I usually do, so confused isn’t the right word here. Dazed is, though.

“Even that grin ya only ever show sometimes makes me melt like a puddle. I love seeing ya like that, the person ya are without a mask. Although I will say yer ‘yuck germs’ face is adorable. Kind of miss it.”

His eyes follow the lines of his jaw, taking in the angles he used to touch so eagerly every night, every spare moment they had.

“I can’t believe just how much ya wore that mask and I just had t' live like that, not seein' half of yer face 'til we were in a settin' where ya had t' take it off. Now I get t' take ya all in, even if the price is ya can’t look back at me. I do miss the mask, actually. How am I s'pposed t' steal kisses from ya now?”

He closes the bento box, putting it away, tucks his knees under his chin. “Too touchy-feely? That’s on me, there’s no one t' tell me I’m overdoin' it — true, it doesn’t ever work, but ’s strange not t' hear it.

“Remember when I tried to sneak up behind ya when ya were makin' breakfast that one time and ya thought I was an intruder and I ended up with a metal pan t' the face? Ya looked so worried and I just couldn’t stop laughin', broken nose and all.

“Bokkun and 'Kaashi-kun had t' drive us t' the hospital ya were so hysterical, adamant 'bout not taking a cab 'cause I’d only die faster. There I was in the backseat, bleedin' like a faucet while coughin' my lungs up with laughter, and ya had tears in yer eyes, yelling at me t' ‘stop laughing’ and ‘take this seriously’,” he says, chuckling softly at the fond memory.

“Sorry, sorry, we were talking 'bout the after-party. Leave it t' me t' go on t' ramble about somethin' else entirely, just coughin' up word vomit.

“It was after our third official match, right? Got a little crazy with the drinkin' that night most of us did, and I remember spotting ya on the sofa in a house ya didn’t know how ya ended up in and I, t' put it elegantly, _plonked_ myself down next t' ya and tried t' get ya talkin' for about ten minutes 'fore ya snapped and said ‘Do you ever shut up?’

“The answer, of course, was no. I prattled on for a bit longer after that and then I stopped and said, ‘Yer pretty even if I can’t see half yer face Omi-kun’.

“Yer eyes went so wide then I thought they were goin' t' pop out of yer head, no joke. So, I took the opportunity t' lean in real close and take yer mask off yer face so slowly and just watch yer composure disappear bit by bit. Ya didn’t even try t' stop me when I went for it and kissed ya.

“The best part I think was when I pulled away with this shit-eating grin on my face and ya chalked it up t' me bein' — and ’m quoting here — ‘off my face drunk’ and I got t' tell ya that I was actually the designated driver and I hadn’t touched a drink for hours.

“Yer cheeks got so red I thought someone had smacked them and so I couldn’t help but point out that, despite acting like ya hadn’t enjoyed it, ya had in fact been kissin' me back. Tha’s when ya pulled a face I am never ever goin' t' forget 'cause not a moment later ya grabbed the front of my shirt and continued what I’d started.”

He takes a sip from the water bottle he brought with him, parched from talking so much, but since there’s no one to talk back to him, he has to make up for the lack of response.

He picks at the label on the water bottle. “I’d kissed boys 'fore. Mostly older college guys who were high as shit and didn’t know what they were looking at, but kissing ya was like I’d found the long-lost puzzle piece that slotted perfectly with my own jagged edges. I knew then that I couldn’t bear losing ya. I couldn’t bear not bein' whole again.

“Again, selfish of me I know.” His fingers take the velvet box off the side table, opens it. “Ya know, it’s funny. I’ve been ramblin' ever since I sat down, and I still haven’t gotten t' the point. Ya always did say I talked too much. What ya never said was how much ya enjoyed it, but that’s okay. I guess I just knew.

“I’m telling you all these stories, 'cause, for lack of a better, more eloquent summary, I’d like t' ask ya to marry me, Kiyoomi.”

The ring is a light silver band with a single gem tucked inside, dark green emerald much like his eyes. It was a subconscious choice, and even though his eyes are closed right now, he remembers them like nothing else.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence as he slides it on his finger, holding his breath, some voice in the back of his head begging for the impossible, flicking a switch behind his eyes, tears raining down as he presses Sakusa’s hand to his lips.

“I know ya can’t say yes,” he chokes out. “I know ya can’t say yes, but 's it so wrong t' believe that if ya could, ya would? 's it so wrong t' believe that ya love me enough t' be by my side not just in a volleyball match?”

Brown eyes, dark and romantic, shed tears without concern of looking pretty like they’re on camera. Cries rip through the room with a rawness that comes from an open wound, a wound of broken promises to be there for one another forever, lungs loud and unforgiving as a hurricane.

Awful as it sounds, the foundation of life is built on loss. Loss and regret and suffering, even if it shouldn’t.

“‘Tsumu,” says a voice, placing a hand on his shoulder. “They need t', well, ya know.”

“They can’t. They can’t ‘Samu 'cause he needs t' tell me yes. He needs t' tell me yes,” he whispers, pleading, not wanting to be dragged away from him, from the only man he’ll ever love.

“‘Tsumu-”

“I need t' hear him say _yes_!” he screams, beaten down and defenceless.

Osamu pulls his brother close, lets his tears stain his shirt, and just whispers and tells him that it’ll be okay, that he _can_ move on from this, that he _will_ move on from this, and that no matter how much he curses that he wishes he’d never even _met_ Sakusa, he doesn’t really mean it. 

With one last gut-wrenching sob, the older twin brother falls to his knees, broken, a nurse turning off a machine, the piercing shriek of the flatline not much louder than his howl.

The number thirteen always was unlucky.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Song:  
> Dazed and Confused, Ruel
> 
> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


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